(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby







Lunch With The Lizards.


from The Bushwalker 1942


Elusive things, trains ! Ah well, the only thing to be done was to catch the next one, and make the best of my own company, since the party I should have joined was already miles away.

So I journeyed alone, and walked alone, through dry brushwood and patches of radiant flowers. When I judged, by certain infallible signs, that lunchtime was come, I sought the nearest gully, and, after clambering over many boulders, found water.

Water it undoubtedly was, since tadpoles were swimming about in it. In fact, looking more closely at it, I felt that here was a sample of the oft-quoted "first water." It was like a little puddle left over from the Flood, complete with a representative gathering of Noah's wogs. Blessed be the cleansing power of fire, I thought, as I kindled some twigs and slung the billy between two handy boulders. It boiled rapidly, and I was soon sipping tea and munching grilled bacon sandwiches.

It was warm in that rocky defile. I took off shoes and heavy woollen socks and spread them to air while I smoked a leisurely cigarette.

Out of the tail of my eye I caught a flicker of movement. Snake? I wondered, and sat breathless. Another movement, and I saw a small curved arm and delicate fingers. Ah! A lizard. All was well.

My visitor advanced warily. His clear, alert eyes watched the smoking mountain that was I, much as a human might gaze at a volcano liable to erupt at any moment.

Reassured by my stillness, he moved forward again, stealthily, placing one small hand after another on the rock. His quick head turned towards me once more; then he decided that I was only part of the scenery, and went with the most barefaced curiosity to examine my footgear. He crawled over a shoe, paused in thought, and returned whence he had come, round the corner of a rock.

I thought he had lost interest in my belongings, but no. In a twinkling he was back, bringing his wife with him. Together they made a minute inspection of my entire outfit—crawled up and down the socks, darted a tongue into the paper which had held the bacon, ran over my pack and had a look in the pocket.

I watched the queer little creatures with their grey, knobbly skins, so exactly the colour of lichened rocks, and thought what an upstart I was in these surroundings. My pool of "first water"; these ancient rocks; these equally ancient-looking animals—surely they were here unchanged jsince the beginning of time, and would be here unchanged long after i was dust.